


A Lesson in Lovesick

by biketest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biketest/pseuds/biketest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where the hell are you, man?" </p><p>Episode tag for 8.16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by tumblr freaking out over the weird Castiel's voice/feather [thing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iETB2Aumbag). I don't know if I completely buy it but it's a nice thought.

“Where the hell are you, man?” 

Ask this, and look around the empty room. Search for him or even a sign that he heard you. A flicker of light, maybe, the sound of flapping wings. 

There will be nothing to see or hear.

Lay down on the bed and bury your face in your single pillow. Try to breath around the lump in your throat, squeeze your eyes shut to keep anything from coming out. Don’t let yourself feel disappointed. You know you shouldn’t have expected him to come anyway. Berate yourself for hoping. It was silly. You should know better. He hasn’t responded in almost a month, why would you think he would this time? Just because you desperately need him to? Fucking idiot. 

Tell yourself these things, but let yourself feel the strange sad warmth in your stomach that constantly pokes at the numbness, like missing someone—a feeling you know too well—but different in some way you still don’t know how to name, how it has you blurting desperate prayers to empty rooms and keeping to one side of your ridiculously large bed. How it hurts but not always. Welcome it because it keeps you thinking of him.

Lay in bed fully clothed like you haven’t since getting your own room and let yourself feel this. Let it consume you until you aren’t listening for Sam’s coughs through the walls. Let it lull you to sleep—miraculously, as you’re still sober. When you pull yourself out of bed hours later and pick your jacket off the chair that looks toward your bed, notice the small black feather that floats to the floor. Pick it up and scour the room again for a sign. You will find nothing, but place it in your jacket pocket. Keep it there.


End file.
